Tag Archive: life


Written, Love Uncertain

I’m not sure
to trust in
my ear or my heart,
impatient
to convey, to commune, to go with
the rhythm already,
shunning sidestep,
when I breathe
the wax is eloquent,
each pause
brings new delight
in asides,
innuendo
more than any tryst
captured
a lover’s imagination,
a wink in due time,
and I am merely a waif
combed in elusive fashion.

© Chagall ∞

For Marilyn

I am from the sun, unable to find my way
back home in the dark.

© Chagall ∞

Trigger

I’m exploring why this one particular
poem of my own makes me cry.

© Chagall ∞

Thought It’d Be Longer

Can a couplet convey an altering jolt similar to an epic?
How many gods does it take to screw-in a tree?

© Chagall ∞

To Soar

As a child I could project myself to the tops of tall trees
I would search out the highest point of the canopy and imagine
The world from that vantage

My wings would ache
To fly down to me
Looking up

Instead I’d turn
My sideways glance
To the sky

As a bird I would project myself to the lowest clouds
I would search out the thinnest white line and imagine
The heavens from that vantage

My wings still ache
From ascension

© Chagall ∞

Looking In

To the birds outside my window today
I am the object behind the screen

© Chagall ∞

Mind Under Matter

Tendrils girdle, torso, bracchia,
anxiety manifests, parted seas close,
I prefer to be cleaved to channel pervasive winds,
a feeling named, neurosis in situ, otherwise benign,
despair unnamed is more easily thwarted, a mystery
even to itself

© Chagall ∞

Sequestered

Moonlight holds
dark milligrams,
pentagrams of photons
dispossessed, lost;
I witness the diaspora
of light. Darkness veils
as deafness, no evil
nor good when there is no need,
when eyes become superfluous.

© Chagall ∞

Druthers

If my fate is to die by falling, let it be
Down weathered steps over the dunes to the beach

© Chagall ∞

Cushiony Beach Feet

I am the samba that remains unwritten
For the space between sand and sea
The dance upon rocks polished by time
Made smooth by deep-water indigo
Bluer than wet waves, sails settle thusly at dusk
On horizons beneath sunlight ceased to fall
To fail to bring light, a blow to grace
A jab to faith, a tinker’s blow to pierce
The armored scowl, the incalculable wonder of eyes
The ponderous pout, beget and be gone
Forgotten, nay a fadeaway dappled in corduroy
Supplicants or another vicarious agenda, indigenous
More than formulaic, naturalized to exist right there
As it must in a flow of energy besieging my optic nerve
I exist to impart everything, I defy thrombosis for I bore
Deeper than the vein of inflammation, the zone of wizened trespass
Thank you for the bodies receptors, for warm city nights
For carousels and the songs that they play, the march of grand horses
Somewhere glasses touch, each a soft mallet upon the other to rub gently
Searching for the warm tone, the sensual rub of globes
I am that samba that snaps you back to the beach
In cool day, in bright coveted morning
Amid constant pressure despite inclination toward shade
Over-anxious more than unctuous or ingratiating
A tip of the hat coincident with the wink is elementary sparkle
The samba that returns like the surf does
Though sometimes it stops
It’s true, so samba through
To the space between sand and sea
Samba, there is where I want to be
Samba, gesticulate, a cuba libre
Leaning out over the rail of the balcony overlooking sand and surf
A small fox at dusk darts furtively through the rough sandy brush
The backs of houses along the dunes along the beach along the ocean
Darkness settles on salted breezes aromatic with land crabs
Less fearful to exit their holes this time of day just before night
When the number of stars and wan atmosphere rival the majesty, the ocean’s roar
In pitch blackness, the world of the blind
The roar of sound dominates the ear
And so goes the body, I am the waves you hear
Of this there’s no denying
I am the song of the samba receding

© Chagall ∞

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